


always be there

by quicheand



Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Trainee Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5932513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicheand/pseuds/quicheand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the first time jonghyun knew what it was to be in love, the first time he realized he was in love, and what followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always be there

When Jonghyun met Key they were both in middle school. They were just a couple of kids who had yet to learn anything about the world, and they both knew it.

Key would never admit it though—that was the difference between them. When threatened Jonghyun would put up a protective front, but it was weak, flimsy, and he was quick to give in, defiant scowls melting easily into sheepish grins.

Key never gave in. I’m right and I will always be right; that was Kibum’s attitude towards life, and everyone who knew him knew it. He stood straight, shoulders squared, and glared fiercely at the world from between narrowed eyelids. He should have been awkward and gangly in his pubescent body, but instead he was full of confidence, arrogance even. Jonghyun never understood it, but he admired Key for it.

The first thing Jonghyun noticed about Key was his hands. Kibum had long, thin fingers that were somehow delicate yet strong at the same time—but that wasn't what Jonghyun noticed about Key's hands.

The thing that caught his attention the most was the way Key's hands seemed to have a life of their own. He gesticulated and tapped and waved; Jonghyun watched the thoughtful procession as Key's fingers walked their way over the surface of a table, or the top of a low stone wall, or the worn plush armrest of the sofa in the lounge. They were hands that laughed and spoke and wept, thought Jonghyun at first; and later on: hands that that spent all their time seeking the sun, denying shadows.

“Kibum,” said Jonghyun as they sat leaning against the wall outside the SM building one day, a couple of weeks after they'd met. Key turned to look at him, mouth still slightly open from whatever he'd just been saying—Jonghyun didn't really know, hadn't really been listening.

“What?” he said, eyes wide. He pursed his lips, in annoyance, or curiosity, or because he had gorgeous lips and knew it—at this point, Jonghyun couldn't yet read Kibum well enough to know which.

Almost without realizing what he was doing, Jonghyun reached forward, trailed his fingertips lightly down Key's forearm, barely brushing the soft skin of his wrist, and tangled their fingers together. He squeezed, once, and then rubbed the pad of his thumb against Key's.

“What?” Key said again. He pulled lightly against Jonghyun's grip—a half-hearted attempt to extricate himself—but Jonghyun only twined their fingers more tightly together, and Key gave up and let him. He resumed talking again, but Jonghyun still wasn't listening, wasn't even looking. He concentrated his gaze, instead, on their hands, lying in a loose clasp amidst the strands of sunlight warming the concrete.

 

 

And that was the first time Jonghyun knew what it was to be in love.

Of course, he didn't know it at the time. It was only looking back, almost five years later, that he realized, that was the moment he fell in love with Kibum.

It was just, just singing on stage, and a hundred teenage girls screaming in front of them, and sweating under the stage lights, so bright Jonghyun was almost blind, and yet he could still see Key, smirking out at the audience as he made his way through the choreography.

For a second, as he swayed to the side, Key's eyes fell on Jonghyun, and suddenly he was smirking at Jonghyun instead. It only lasted a second, and then Key was spinning away again, but Jonghyun found himself reeling back. He almost stumbled, voice breaking on the line he was singing, and it was then that Jonghyun realized, for the first time, that that line was for Kibum—that every line, of every love song he'd ever sung, was for Kibum.

He managed to finish the rest of the performance without incident, and as they made their way offstage, he mentally traced a chronologic thread back through the five years that had passed since he'd met Key. Now that he was thinking back on it, paying attention to details and motivations and feelings he'd never consciously thought about, he wondered if all those little touches, if every time he reached for Key's hand, or slung a casual arm over his shoulder, or wrapped an arm around Kibum's waist to bring him in for a hug—were those all because somehow, without the idea ever really crossing his mind, he wanted Kibum—because the capacity in which he thought of Kibum was more than what was normal for a friendship between two teenage boys?

He let himself worry for just under forty-eight hours; that was how long it took for Key to grow impatient and snap sharply at him, “What's with you lately?” Jonghyun looked down at his feet, which had, a second ago, jumped suddenly and traitorously a foot to the right when Kibum had tapped him on the arm. He tried to speak before words had started to materialize in his brain, and what came out was a vague sound somewhere between confusion, sheepishness, and distress. Kibum huffed irritably and waved Jonghyun's hesitation away.

“Never mind,” he said, in an imperious tone. “Just sort it out, whatever it is. I won't have you jumping like a scared rabbit whenever you see me.”

Then, with a swish of the loose black tunic he was dressed in, he whirled and strode briskly out of the room. Jonghyun stood there guiltily watching the stiff, forced slant of Key's shoulders—Kibum's way of attempting to mask unhappiness. _What am I doing?_ he asked himself.

Giving himself a mental shake, Jonghyun finished changing back into his street clothes, then, with a final check of his reflection in the mirror, left the dressing room, shutting the door behind him.

 

 

They slept in different bedrooms, these days, but shared a wall, Jonghyun on one side, listening to Minho's snores, and Key on the other, in the room he shared with Onew and Taemin. They had a code that they used sometimes: two knocks meant, “I'm still awake, are you,” three meant, “Today was a good day, wasn't it,” and a soft strum of four fingers meant, “Yes.” Two slow knocks followed by three fast ones meant, “Can't sleep; let's talk.”

Jonghyun used this one now. A minute passed, and he thought Key had fallen asleep, or would decline, but then a quiet quadruple tap came, almost imperceptible, followed by the telltale creaking of Key's wooden bed as he got out of it. Jonghyun got up too, throwing on a t-shirt at random from the pile of semi-clean laundry at the foot of his bed.

The light in the living room was off, so Jonghyun almost missed Key sitting on the floor, leaning back against the seat of the couch. Almost, but not quite; the faint light filtering in through the blinds reflected off Kibum's pale skin, just slightly, and Jonghyun caught it out of the corner of his eye as he walked past.

“Hey,” he said, and hovered for a moment before sitting down next to Key.

“What?” asked Key, voice tired, sleepy—but not unpleasant.

Key was always telling Jonghyun he should think before he spoke, but the trouble with that was that once Jonghyun started thinking, he couldn't stop, couldn't decide which of the million words flying through his brain was the perfect one to choose.

It was okay—they'd known each other for so long that sometimes, he didn't have to choose one; Key knew what he was thinking anyway.

“As long as you realize you were being stupid,” said Key, “then it's fine.”

Jonghyun followed the slight movement of Key's fingers as they twined through the short fibers of the rug beneath him. “Right,” he said. And then, thinking he should add something else, “I'm sorry.”

Key sighed softly; halfway through, his breath caught and it turned into a yawn. “Like I said, it's fine.” He reached up to stifle a second yawn, and Jonghyun caught his hand on the way up. Key turned a questioning look on Jonghyun.

For a second Jonghyun wasn't sure himself what he was doing—what he wanted to do. Then he smiled, and all his needless unease seemed to melt away with that smile. He pressed his palm to Kibum's, tangled their fingers together, still smiling.

Key laughed, the sound softened by sleepiness but no less pleased. “Sap,” he accused, but it was half-hearted and they both knew it. Jonghyun laughed too, and pulled Key in for a hug. Outside, a car sped by, then another, then three more, even though it was late, even though the sun would be up in only a few hours. Jonghyun held on to Key, notching his chin in the dip before Key's shoulder started, breathing in the faint scent of soap at the nape of his neck.

“Jjong,” said Key, eventually. “Can we go to sleep now? It's late and we have to be awake in five hours.”

“Right,” said Jonghyun, and untwined his arms from around Key. Key tugged at his hand, and Jonghyun relinquished his hold there as well. Key stood; Jonghyun watched him go until he had disappeared into the shadowed hallway leading to their bedrooms. Then Key leaned back out.

“Aren't you going to bed?” he said.

“Yeah, I will,” said Jonghyun. “In a minute.” Key shrugged and turned away. A few moments later, Jonghyun heard the sound of a door opening, then closing, quiet so as not to disturb the others. He stood then, and padded softly down the hall and into his room. He laid down on his bed, facing the wall that separated him from Kibum. He imagined that he could hear Kibum's breathing, deep and calm, slowly evening out, even though of course he couldn't, really; but he imagined he could anyway, until his own breaths evened out and he fell asleep.

 

 

Things went back to the two of them keeping each other company through busy schedules, to side glances and small smiles and the tiniest of touches—to a constant stream of little happinesses that kept them both going in the face of the unending routine of something like mundaneness, something like the public facade of stardom that had become their everyday lives.

On the twentieth day after Jonghyun realized he loved Kibum—not that Jonghyun was keeping count—they had a string of days off, seventy-two precious hours of freedom in their hectic lives. On the first day, Key dragged Jonghyun shopping with him, like he often did on days off, and Jonghyun went along with only mild protests. They wandered along a few fashionable streets, darting in and out of shops that caught Key's eye, until late in the afternoon.

Back at the dorm, Key pulled Jonghyun into his room and pulled his shirt over his head. Jonghyun swallowed at the sight of the bared skin, taut over the line of Key's hipbone—and then it was gone again, the fabric of Key's newly acquired t-shirt having dropped over it.

Jonghyun dropped his bags on the floor and hopped onto the bed, making himself comfortable for Kibum's customary after-shopping fashion show. Key methodically donned each new article of clothing, strutted across the room to pose in front of the full-length mirror he always kept sparkling clean, and then turned, hand on his hip, and tilted his head in a silent request for Jonghyun's opinion. Jonghyun nodded or hummed in approval; a couple of times he scrunched his nose disagreeably, just to mix it up a little, but relented when Key's eyebrows started to knit together, and smiled instead.

“It's great,” he assured Kibum. “Everything is great.”

“You say that all the time—I think it's started to lose its meaning,” complained Key, but the corners of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly upward, and Jonghyun knew he was secretly pleased.

After what felt like the seventieth outfit, Jonghyun lay down, plopping heavily onto his back, and didn't look up when Key whined for his opinion, or even when Key threatened bodily harm. He heard a sigh, and a moment later the bed dipped underneath his thighs as Key hopped up beside Jonghyun. He squatted there for a while, leaning down and studying Jonghyun's face. _Too close_ , thought Jonghyun, first holding his breath in the face of such close proximity, then remembering not to and struggling to remember how to breathe normally. Finally, Key gave up and lay down, scooting across the narrow width of the bed so that they were lying in opposite directions, Key's head near Jonghyun's knees at the edge of the mattress.

They lay like that sometimes, Jonghyun’s legs bent at the knees, feet brushing the floor by the foot of the bed, and Key’s legs raised in a rotated sitting position, one foot planted high on the wall and the other bobbing absently back and forth in the air.

“Don’t put your feet there,” Jonghyun would say. “You’ll make footprints on the wall.” Key would scoff but otherwise ignore him. Jonghyun would nudge his shoulder, but he didn’t really care when Key ignored that too.

The truth was that Key never left lasting footprints anywhere but Jonghyun’s heart.

 

 

The third and last day of their brief reprieve was a Saturday, which meant that in addition to their having the day off, many of their friends and family had the day off as well. Jonghyun, exchanging a few routine texts with his sister during breakfast, mentioned this in passing; she replied almost instantly, wanting to get together for lunch at some cafe.

“It's very good,” she said. “Very private too, so don't worry.”

“Hey, Kibum,” Jonghyun said, leaning over to show Key the screen of his handphone. “You ever heard of this place?”

Key leaned to look, then clapped his hands together in excitement. “I've been wanting to go there!” he exclaimed, then promptly grabbed hold of Jonghyun's arm with both hands. He began to shake Jonghyun back and forth, pushing and pulling, pushing away and then pulling him close again. “Ask if I can come too,” he demanded.

Jonghyun laughed as he shook Key off. “All right, all right!” Key stilled but clung on as Jonghyun began typing back his response, practiced fingers quickly darting across the keypad. It was only as Jonghyun pressed send that Key finally let go. One of his hands trailed lightly a few inches down the bared skin of Jonghyun's arm before pulling away; Jonghyun suppressed a shiver.

Jonghyun's sister was already there when they got to the cafe. She waved them over enthusiastically from the table she'd reserved, and as they approached, got up to give each of them a hug.

As far as Jonghyun was concerned his sister knew everything. She was a slight woman, five foot one on a good day and slim, but he never thought of her as being that way. Probably it was the memory of her as a middle school student, frazzled hair flying every which way as she shouted down the four high school thugs from down the street, making them cower even though they were all four years older and a good foot taller. He remembered peeking out from behind her, a scrawny fifth grader, all awkward limbs and face quivering with baby fat, and thinking, awed, that his sister was the bravest, most powerful person in the world.

She had a habit of massaging the lower edges of her eye sockets when she was thinking. She was doing it now, as they waited for their food to arrive: she pressed the pads of her fingers to the bone there, digging into the soft dark skin under her eyes.

“Stop that,” said Jonghyun. “You look like you’re going to gouge your eyes out.”

“Oh,” she said, and brought her hands down. A minute passed and her fingers were back where they were again, rubbing and prodding gently under her eyes.

“Noona,” he said, an exasperated sigh.

“All right, all right,” she said, and folded her hands together on the table in front of her. She looked straight at him, eyes simultaneously dark and bright, as they always were; Jonghyun squirmed under her searching gaze.

He was saved by his sister's sudden scrutiny by the waiter, a plate balanced on each forearm and another in his right hand.

His sister had been right—the food _was_ good. The three of them ate and chattered companionably. Jonghyun found himself thinking, not for the first time, that he was lucky the two people he cared about most got along so well with each other.

He stood—the legs of the chair squeaked against the glossy floor—and bent to give his sister a hug.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” he said, leaning his cheek against her hair. She swatted him in false annoyance—a gesture that was more or less negated by the way she rested her other hand lovingly over his arm. Suddenly Jonghyun's chest tightened, filling with gratitude—both for his older sister's advice and for her love, her acceptance. “Thanks, noona,” he said, and the sound caught in his throat a little.

“Jonghyun, wait a minute,” said his sister, standing up as well. “I've got something I've got to talk to you about.”

Jonghyun looked back, then nodded at Key to leave first. Key nodded back, agreeably, and headed outside, door closing with a soft tinkle of bells behind him. “When are you going to tell Kibum you're in love with him?” Jonghyun froze.

“How—what are you talking about?” he stuttered, when his voice came back into his throat.

His sister clicked her tongue disapprovingly and slapped lightly at Jonghyun's shoulder. “Of course I can tell—I'm your sister,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Oh,” he said, and then, in answer to the question, “I don't know.” He looked down, fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.

His sister rocked back on her heels. She hummed vaguely before saying, “You should let him know how you feel.”

Jonghyun was quiet a moment before zipping his jacket and looking up. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.” He bent to hug his sister—she was short enough that even he had to reach down to her—before saying goodbye and heading out.

 

 

He didn't tell Kibum.

 

 

The thing was, even though Jonghyun had meant it when he gave his sister that maybe, after finishing out the day with Kibum, after watching him fondly as he gesticulated animatedly, ranting about his latest favorite fashion designer; after racing up the stairs of their building after finding that the elevator was out of order, Kibum laughing and skipping ahead with the same enthusiasm with which he did everything in life; after marathoning shoujo anime and falling asleep on the couch with Key's head on his shoulder, warm and familiar and comfortable; Jonghyun knew that there was no way he could ever risk losing this feeling of closeness with Key.

So he listened to Key wax on and on about fashion trends, and raced up the stairs to the dorm after him, and nodded amiably when Key suggested they watch Marmalade Boy—“Ironically, of course, so we can laugh at how stupid it is.” They argued about who the main character was going to end up with. Key insisted that she was going to fall in love with the new stepbrother she claimed to hate because of that spark of secret attraction, and because “she's a bubble-headed idiot who doesn't know what's good for her.” Jonghyun rooted steadily for the childhood friend who had followed her faithfully for years even though she'd yet to realize his affections for her.

“God, you're such a sap,” groaned Key, throwing a melodramatic hand over his eyes. Jonghyun almost but didn't hit him with one of the couch cushions, because Key always retaliated with a fury not unlike that of a wrathful god, albeit an extremely fashionable and youthful one.

And then, several episodes later, Jonghyun found his eyes drifting shut, opening and slowly closing again. Key was still awake, head pillowed in the little nest of Jonghyun's shoulder and the back of the couch, but just barely. He was quiet, still, eyes wide open but not really focused on anything. Jonghyun, head turned to watch Key's slow descent into sleep, rustled the topmost few strands of Key's hair with every exhaled breath.

_This is why_ , he thought, bittersweet. This is why I can't tell you. This is what I couldn't live without.

And with that thought still floating through his mind, Jonghyun succumbed to sleep, the romantic woes of teenage girls still playing across the television screen.

 

 

They went to Thailand. They went to Taiwan. They went to Japan, Singapore, Russia.

Jonghyun tried to refrain from grabbing Key's hand like he wanted as they walked through the fan-infested airports, all too conscious of the inches between their hands that swing loosely beside themselves. When they stopped for interviews in each new country, Minho always stood just this side of too close to Key for Jonghyun's liking; Jonghyun kept his face frozen in a perfect smile, steeling his expression whenever Key collapsed onto Minho's shoulder in laughter. He pretended not to notice, and turned as if directing his answers at Taemin, rather than the camera. The first couple of times, Taemin shot him quizzical looks, but eventually seemed to accept it, and from then on, just nodded eagerly in response. Jonghyun knew Taemin wasn't really listening to what he was saying, but he was grateful to their maknae for playing along anyway.

On the plane, Key pulled Taemin's arm and dragged him into the seat beside him. Jonghyun sat beside Minho and slept. He dreamed that it was Key sitting beside him, and woke up to Minho shoving at his head.

“You're drooling on my shoulder, hyung,” he said.

“Oh,” said Jonghyun, and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry.” He shifted his weight to his other side and went back to sleep.

 

 

Jonghyun looked to his left at a soft pressure against the back of his arm, near his elbow, and a moment later, Key's arm had threaded itself around his own, fingers hooking delicately into the soft material of his hoodie.

“Hi,” said Key.

“Hi,” said Jonghyun back. Key leaned into him as they walked; Jonghyun found himself tensing even though they'd done this a thousand times before. Suddenly he couldn't remember whether, before, he had leaned back into Key, solid pressure countering Key's weight; suddenly he couldn't remember whether it was okay to swing their linked arms until Key's hand slid down far enough for him to lace their fingers together.

He did neither, though he wanted to. Key held on for a few minutes without saying anything. They got to the coffee shop they were heading towards then, and Key let go to pull the door open and walk inside. The bell jingled, and again as Jonghyun caught the door and entered after Key.

 

 

There was a reason Jonghyun was the main vocalist and not the dancer.

The music stopped, again, in the middle of a beat. Jonghyun headed for the bench at the back of the room, waving away their choreographer's complaints.

“I know, I know,” he said as he picked up a towel and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. “The footwork is wrong. And the timing is a beat too late. Again.”

The choreographer hesitated, then let out a somewhat remorseful sigh. “All right,” he relented. “Take a ten minute break, guys, and then we'll try it again.”

Jonghyun sat down heavily and unscrewed the top from his water bottle, drank in deep gulps, drank until the cheap plastic crinkled beneath his hand. He rubbed wearily at his neck, rotating his head this way and that.

The other members were milling about the room, stretching or fanning themselves with their hands or, in the case of their maknae, draping themselves over the electric fan in an attempt to cool off. Minho made his way over and shoved gently at him to share, and a small scuffle broke out over control of the cool air.

Jonghyun sighed heavily and stretched his arms out behind his back. His discontent must have showed on his face; Key looked over, clicked his tongue sympathetically, and came to stand in front of Jonghyun.

“Come on,” he said. He reached out and tugged at Jonghyun's hand. Jonghyun let himself be pulled upright, head lolling bonelessly back until he came to rest solidly on his own two feet.

“I'll help you,” said Key.

He stepped in behind Jonghyun and, resting on hand on Jonghyun's arm and one on his side, just above his hip, started guiding him into position. Jonghyun took one step to the right under Key's careful direction, and then another, and then—and then suddenly it was too hot, and he was too aware of Key's hands touching him, bare skin on his arm and through only a thin layer of cotton at his hip. They'd done this a million times before, Key hooking his chin over Jonghyun's shoulder as he helped him through the steps whenever they had to learn a new dance, but somehow this time was too much. Jonghyun shook free and stepped forward, then turned around. He was breathing hard, and wasn't sure whether it was from the earlier exertion or something else entirely.

“You don't have to—I can do it myself,” he said.

In the pause that followed, Jonghyun felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. The whole room seemed to freeze, Onew, Minho and Taemin stopping what they were doing to look on as well, as Key just stared at him, unresponsive, for the slowest five seconds Jonghyun had ever experienced. Jonghyun felt at once both guilty and sorry, without knowing what he had done wrong.

“Okay,” said Key, finally, quietly, unnaturally. “Fine.” And he turned on his heel and walked away. The door to the practice room banged shut behind him before Jonghyun leapt to his feet and, crossing the room in four quick strides, jerked it open again and looked into the hall after Key.

“Kibum,” he called, but Key didn't turn back. Jonghyun thought he looked smaller, somehow, than usual, and the feeling only intensified as Key progressed farther and farther down the hall.

 

 

“You're so different lately.”

“I don't know if I like you like this.”

“Do you still like me?”

 

 

Jonghyun tensed involuntarily at that last question, suddenly alert and on guard.

“I—What does that mean? And what do you mean, 'different?' What am I doing wrong?”

Key, sitting cross-legged on the chair with his shoulders hunched, let out a quiet sigh, without looking at Jonghyun, staring down at his hands in his lap instead.

“Never mind,” he said, after a beat. “If you don't know, then never mind.”

Jonghyun felt flabbergasted. He thought back, frantic, over every action of the past few days. The past few weeks. How long ago did Key's “lately” start from, anyway? Jonghyun had been so careful not to act any differently, not to be too affectionate or overstep his boundaries; had he slipped up somewhere? Had he done something wrong, and did Key And what did Key mean by that—what did the word “like” mean in that sentence?

But it was too dangerous to ask that. Instead, Jonghyun said, “Whatever it is I'm doing, it's not on purpose, you know.”

Key did look at him then, and Jonghyun was taken aback at the sadness in his eyes.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Key said, and Jonghyun wondered how it felt for a heart to break.

 

 

“What?” said Key, even though he'd turned away towards the mirror and uncapped his eyeliner, the conversation over, and Jonghyun realized he'd spoken out loud, without thinking, again.

“Nothing,” said Jonghyun, cheeks burning at his mistake, backtracking furiously. “It's nothing—just a random thought, just—nothing.”

“No,” said Key, “what did you mean by that? I want to know.” His hands were clenched into fists, Jonghyun noticed, the right around the pencil of his eyeliner, turning white where the wood pressed into soft skin, and the left around empty air. Jonghyun studied Key's face, trying to read his expression; he'd thought he was good at it, thought he knew Key like a book, but evidently he was wrong, because Key looked scared, and he had no reason to be.

“It's nothing,” Jonghyun said again. “I told you, just a random thought. Doesn't mean anything.” He swallowed and looked down. When he returned his gaze to Key's face, he tried to inject some defiance, some indignation into his expression. “Don't read too much into things, Kim Kibum,” he said.

Key stared at him for a moment, then pursed his lips, facial features going stony, and turned back to the mirror. Jonghyun watched as he started drawing careful lines across his lower eyelids and out to the corners of his eyes, then looked down at his own hands. They were shaking, almost imperceptibly.

 

 

“It feels like knives.”

Jonghyun looked up at the sound of Key's voice. His words were short, crisp, but not sharp—merely matter-of-fact, like stating the way things are. Key's eyes didn't move from their focus on his reflection in the mirror as he spoke; his hands never stopped their careful work.

“It happens when your heart hardens. It's a slow process,” Key said, and added a touch of glitter to his left eyelid, “but you just find yourself getting less flexible, envious all the time, unhappy even though you don't know why.” He dabbed a glowing spot of bright blue on the edges of his eyes. “It becomes brittle,” he says, “and then, with the slightest pressure—” finishing off with a flip of the brush “—it cracks and shatters.” He snapped the lid of the eyeshadow palette shut, then studies the finished product shining on the mirror's surface.

He turned to look at Jonghyun then, and Jonghyun didn't recognize the smoky-eyed creature in front of him for a moment, even though he'd been watching the transformation the whole time.

“The pieces cut into your lungs like knives,” Key said.

“You feel like you'll never breathe again,” Key said.

“In case you were wondering,” Key said.

 

 

On the day before Sherlock promotions would start, Key came out of the shower just as Jonghyun was heading to bed.

“Going to bed?” asked Key.

It was a moment before Jonghyun remembered to nod, distracted by the boy in front of him. It wasn't that Key was naked, or even mostly undressed, but his skin was soft from steam and still slightly damp, and the shirt he wore to sleep was much too big on him and had slid down one shoulder.

Key followed Jonghyun's eyes and pulled up on the collar of his shirt. Jonghyun snapped his gaze back to Key's face. “'Night then,” Key said. He shifted, flattening himself against the wall so he could squeeze past Jonghyun in the narrow hall, to go to the living room, or the kitchen or his bedroom; Jonghyun didn't know.

“Kibum,” Jonghyun called when Key was a few meters away. Key stopped and turned toward him, one hand just touching the wall beside him.

“Yeah?”

_Come to bed with me_ , Jonghyun wanted to say. He cleared his throat.

“Don't forget to set your alarm clock.”

“I won't,” said Key. Jonghyun thought he was going to roll his eyes, but he didn't. Instead, he turned and pushed open the door to his and Taemin and Onew's room and disappeared inside.

Jonghyun felt oddly disappointed as he finished the walk to his own bedroom, and he wasn't sure if it was Key or himself he was disappointed in.

 

 

Backstage before their comeback performance. The members gathered in a circle, arms around each other's backs. Jonghyun and Key stood on opposite sides of the circle, each staring resolutely at his feet, avoiding the other's gaze.

“This is it,” Onew was saying. “We're coming back for the first time in a long time—for the first time in a year and a half. Let's make it a good one. Let's do it together, because we're a team.”

“We're a team,” Key echoed softly. His tone seemed light, but Jonghyun knew him better than that, could hear the implied sarcasm that didn't make it to the surface of his voice.

“ _Get ready,_ ” said a tinny voice in Jonghyun's ear. “ _You boys are live in five minutes._ ”

Jonghyun grabbed Key's wrist. “Let's talk,” he said, and dragged him towards the door. He ignored the voices that hissed after him, “Are you crazy? We're performing in _five minutes!_ ” and continued down the hall, pulling Key behind him.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” demanded Key as Jonghyun slowed to a stop in an empty niche. Jonghyun ignored him.

“I was trying not to do this,” he said, “because I didn't want things to change, but.” He swallowed and rubbed his palms, suddenly starting to sweat, on the backs of his thighs. His voice cracked slightly, out of nerves, or anticipation, or desperation, as he said, “But everything is changing anyway, so I'm just going to—there's no point in—I mean, I—”

He kissed Key.

 

 

Key stared at him.

“Say something,” begged Jonghyun; but the voice that spoke wasn't Key's.

“ _Two minutes,_ ” crackled both their earpieces.

“Fuck,” said Key.

 

 

They ran back to the stage, getting there just as the one minute warning went off in their ears.

“Where the hell did you guys go?” hissed Minho, angrily, as they both took their positions in the lineup. Everyone else was, of course, already posed perfectly, ready to begin.

“I—” started Jonghyun, and then stopped, not sure what to say.

“Shut your mouth and mind your own business,” snapped Key angrily over his shoulder. Minho opened his mouth to retort, brow scrunched into deep, furious folds, but he was interrupted by both Onew and the final countdown to showtime.

“Guys, we're about to perform, can we just—”

“ _Ten, nine, eight, seven, six—_ ”

Jonghyun closed his eyes, and counted under his breath: “Five, four, three, two...”

He opened his eyes, then almost stumbled backwards as the music began: Key was staring right at him, eyes intense but unreadable. The butterflies that had been drifting restlessly through Jonghyun's stomach all while they prepared for this comeback suddenly multiplied by ten.

And then, with Minho's whispered voice magnified and echoing from above them, a split second before Jonghyun was to whirl away as his part in the choreography started, Key smiled at Jonghyun, bright and clear like none of the subtle turbulences of the past few months had happened.

There wasn't time to process; Jonghyun kicked his foot out automatically with the beat of the music, the image of Key's smile still spinning across his mind's eye as he spun across the stage.

 

 

The fans were still screaming as they made their way offstage, every one of them breathing hard from exertion and excitement, and Jonghyun from the added uncertainty of—of. He wanted to look at Key to see if he too was feeling something like this, if he was nervous, or excited, or angry, or. But Jonghyun was too scared, and kept his eyes trained straight ahead as he followed Onew down the steps and into the hall.

That smile—its ghost still flickered through Jonghyun's head, on and off, on and off. He hadn't had time to think about what Key had meant by it before, too preoccupied with trying to make it through the performance, but now.

_I know everything_ , it had said. I've got you all figured out.

Heart pounding, Jonghyun turned, looked over his shoulder. Key saw him looking and shot him that same smile again, bright and reassuring.

The staff—the makeup noonas and stylists, stage techs and lighting boys, their manager—all patted them on the backs for a job well done. Jonghyun smiled graciously and bowed in thanks, but inside he felt a wreck, a tangled knot just beginning to straighten itself out.

He turned to Key as soon as they reached their dressing room.

“Yeah,” said Key, agreeing immediately to the unasked question. He looked past Jonghyun at Onew. “Me and Jjong are going to talk outside for a minute, yeah?” Onew nodded his understanding and and Key retreated back into the hallway. Jonghyun swallowed the hard lump in his throat and followed.

 

 

Alone in an empty section of the building, Key leaned back against the wall, one foot planted against the white paint. Jonghyun, hands nervously fidgeting in his pockets, slouched against the wall opposite.

“I thought it was my fault,” said Key. “I thought because I took you for granted—I mean I always kind of thought you liked me, and I thought, when I decide I want to, he'll be there for me.” He paused, looked up at Jonghyun. “I thought you'd given up waiting. I thought you'd given up on me.”

Jonghyun pulled at the hem of his vest. He flipped through each of the thoughts going through his head— _it's my fault, not yours; so do you feel the same way I do now? how could I give up on you? how could I stop being in love with you?_ Finally, he decided on, “How did you even know?”

Key shot him one of his infamous looks, and Jonghyun instantly flushed and looked down, without knowing why.

“Please,” said Key. “How long have we known each other? How long have we been best friends?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I can read you like a book by now, Kim Jonghyun.”

“But I can't read you,” said Jonghyun, petulant. And then, more quietly: “I know I should be able to by now; I'm sorry.”

There was a sudden warm touch at Jonghyun's wrist, and he looked up just as Key slid his fingers around his wrist, then slid down to take his hand.

“It's okay,” he said, and when Jonghyun met his gaze there was a mischievous smile in his eyes. “I already knew you weren't that bright.”

Laughing a mild protest, Jonghyun tangled their fingers together; and then he did the same with the other hand. It felt like coming home, like he'd been elsewhere for months and finally returned to this close intimacy with Key.

Key leaned forward and rested his forehead against Jonghyun's.

“By the way,” he said. “I do want you. In case you were wondering.”

“Good,” Jonghyun said. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Kibum's. Moments later, the door opened, and they separated. They wouldn't get another chance to kiss that night, but that second kiss was only the beginning of what was to come.

 

 


End file.
